Even in that unlikely place of wind, sand, and heat, it was easy to imagine Miss Sasagawara a decorative ingredient of some ballet. Her daily costume, brief and fitting closely to her trifling waist, generously billowing below, and bringing together arrestingly rich colors like mustard yellow and forest green, appeared to have been cut from a coarse-textured homespun; her shining hair was so long it wound twice about her head to form a coronet; her face was delicate and pale, with a fine nose, pouting bright mouth, and glittering eyes; and her measured walk said, “Look, I’m walking!” as though walking were not a common but a rather special thing to be doing. I first saw her so one evening after mess, as she was coming out of the women’s latrine, going towards her barracks, and after I thought she was out of hearing, I imitated the young men of the Block (No. 33), and gasped, “Wow! How much does she weigh?”
“Oh, haven’t you heard?” said my friend Elsie Kubo, knowing very well I had not. “That’s Miss Sasagawara.”
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